I woke with great aspirations of becoming a highly successful matchmaker for lonely socks. You know that basket that has hidden in the back of my closet for months wishing children valued quarters just a little bit more? Bribery has ceased to be effective. What’s worse?
This is my first full day at home alone in more than seven years. Seven years, six months and four days, to be exact.
I haven’t a clue what to do.
Yes, I know there are millions of things I could be doing. After my dreams of becoming Yente, I thought maybe I should purge and re-organize the abyss of plastic taking up an entire corner of my kitchen cabinets. My house is already clean, and the laundry is going. I know there are more tasks around here than those. I could sew that quilt I’ve been planning for months or finally hem the curtains in the bathroom. Or finish a few more purses. Or write. Or read. Motivation eludes me.
While talking with the kids the other night I asked them “What am I going to do when you’re gone all day?” Ellie suggested that I relax.
How does one do that again?
One more experienced and well-intentioned friend suggested I take up shopping. That’s what she did. Another suggested going to the movies. That’s what she did. Neither of those options appeal to me too much. And so I sit awkwardly idle waiting until it’s time to collect my precious charges from school.